Conversations with Island Boy

Obligatory cute picture of Island Boy.

Scene: Break of dawn.

Papa:  Good morning, Island Boy.

IB:  I’m telling, Mama.

Papa:  What do you want me to make you for breakfast?

IB:  Leave me alone.

A bit later.

Papa:  Please turn off the TV.  Time to go to school.

IB:  I’m not going!  Whaaaaaaaa!

That evening.

Papa [entering the abode]: Hi, Island Boy.  I missed you.

IB [telling on evil sister]: Fashionista’s not letting me have any chips right before dinner {okay — I’m paraphrasing here for dramatic emphasis ‘n shit}.

Papa: No chips, IB.

IB [running up stairs]: Mama, Papa said ‘no chips.’

Mama: Papa’s right, IB.  Go to your room for tattling.

IB: You’re not my friend.  Whaaaaaaaa!

A door slams.

Later still that evening.

Papa: Please sit down, Island Boy and eat this nutritious dinner that Mama prepared for us {not exactly like that.  But, you get the picture}

IB: Papa, please put on some music.  I want to dance.

Papa: No, IB.  Dinnertime is for eating, not for dancing.  I think we’ve discussed this before.


Papa: Island Boy, please take the dirty, plastic Army men out of your meatloaf.  That’s yucky.

IB [feigning deafness]: What?!?

Papa: You heard me.  You’re sitting right next to me.

Further anon.

Papa [changing sheets in IB’s room — Papa’s least favorite chore]: IB, I don’t hear you brushing your teeth.  You know what the penalty will be.

IB [from the distant bathroom]: What?

Papa enters the bathroom and clocks Island Boy furtively attempting to hide his crime of jamming inappropriate objects down the drain.

Papa: IB, is that brushing your teeth?

IB [desperately grasping for the toothpaste and knocking it to the floor]: I am brushing.

Papa: I think you’re being very naughty today.

IB: What?!?

Very shortly thereafter.

Papa: Well, good night, Island Boy.  You’ve lost your story time tonight.  I wish it had been otherwise.

IB: MAMA!!!!!   I WANT STORIES!!!!!!   WHAAAAAA!!!!!!!

Papa: Good night, Pal.  Let’s make tomorrow a better day.

Fade to black with cries of “I’m scared!” and “Mommy!” resonating in the background.


Hardly the charming Pre-schooler repartée to which you have grown accustomed in Conversations, is it?

— The Major


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